Sad Surprise
love is a marionette, kissed by kismet,
stitching in secret ~
the cursive cure from Cupid’s strings,
whilst this ink slowly breathes
on the silent sinews of devotion,
as if the heart never knew
the synonyms of the soul’s touch,
too afraid to embrace
the sound of the wind ~
caught in your dreams,
for the inner child
harbors bruised blues,
b r e e z i n g through abandoned dawns…
and I sit in my seclusion,
sipping the aftertaste
of a sad surprise ~
haunting my psyche,
knocking on my cruel conscience,
for romance has always been
the start of an undeniable unraveling ~
of hurt and illusions,
of sorrow and helplessness ~
a peony that pains and pines
beneath its own lament,
yet still I muse ~
tasting the testaments of truth,
of what could have been
and what almost was,
for the ending was the beginning
of my heart’s harp harmonizing,
plucking aching echoes
from coffin-colored chords,
cryptic cadence,
that still lives in the afterglow
of an amethyst sunset ~
painted with tears and time…
so remember me
as more than a poem
spun from metaphors of misery ~
in desolate delight,
as I am the silhouette
of your solitary scribbles,
the sigh that drifts
between your syllables,
a rhyme of what was crafted
in silence,
and what bleeds on endlessly…
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